


Shelter 2

by hutchynstarsk



Series: Shelter [2]
Category: Starsky and Hutch - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Gen, end of the world?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchynstarsk/pseuds/hutchynstarsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sequel to Shelter</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter 2

**Shelter 2**

Beside him on the hard wooden bench, Starsky stirred restlessly. Hutch turned to look at him. "It's been hours, Hutch," he mumbled. "I'm sure we can go up…"

"You can't know that, Starsk," warned Hutch. "We haven't had an all-clear. The bombs could fall any minute."

Hutch, Starsky, a young police officer and nearly a hundred people (and one dog) sat packed into the basement of a police station.

Other people had fled Bay City, or even now were waiting in other shelters spread across the city, wondering, hoping, fearing—

Waiting for nuclear war.

It had been announced this morning—what felt like a lifetime ago. Both Starsky and Hutch had done their best to help as many people to safety as they could, and to stop rioting. They'd been separated, and hadn't found each other until the streets were empty and this fallout shelter was nearly full.

Now they sat side by side with the others, waiting, hoping, praying. And, like Starsky, getting restless.

Hutch put a hand on his partner's jean-clad thigh. "Starsky, be patient. We've been listening to the radio, and surely if—"

Starsky shifted and stirred. "I think somebody forgot to tell us! There's no way it'll really be war—not really!"

"Shh," said Hutch, looking around; Starsky's voice had risen irritably loud.

But it was too late. A nearby businessman, sweating in his suit even though he'd removed his tie, loosened his collar and rolled up his sleeves, glared at Starsky. "You think it's all a ruse, huh? Well, you're wrong. The Reds finally decided to kill us. I just hope we take them with us!"

"And the rest of the world go hang, huh?" said Starsky, his voice tightening. He jumped up. "I don't know why we should wait down here! I'm hungry! If we are gonna have bombs fall, then we should've brought down more food and water. And I'm not waitin' anymore. I'm goin' to get some!"

"Starsky!" The word wrenched from Hutch as he lunged for his friend, trying to grab his arm and pull him back. But the slippery-quick Starsky was too fast for him. He zipped from the basement and up the steps outside.

"Starsky!" shouted Hutch. He looked around, glared at the businessman, and started after Starsky at a run.

It was nearly dark when he emerged on the street.

The radio had been repeating the same emergency war message for hours, all the news people having fled. Starsky was convinced the war was already postponed and that no bombs would fall. Hutch wasn't.

It was a divergence of opinion that now had Starsky somewhere on these ominously empty streets, and Hutch following him, searching for him.

"Starsk!" he called, his voice echoing and lonely, sounding annoyed and afraid. "David Michael Starsky!"

Nothing.

He looked up and down the empty streets littered with blowing trash. Starsky was a very fast runner. In the twilight, he could've gotten far without being seen. He could've turned down any street, and if he didn't hear Hutch, he'd be on his own. Out here. When the bombs fell.

Hutch began to run, thinking, _C'mon, think like Starsky. Where would I go?_

He looked up and down the street as he ran, squinting in the dusk.

Hungry. He'd said he was hungry, so somewhere with food.

For the first time, Hutch thought of Starsky's car. He'd left it somewhere, probably the old folks' home when he'd come with the bus that brought the older people to the shelter. He wouldn't have gone back for it, but would he have taken another car? Hutch hadn't heard an engine when he emerged from the steps, so probably Starsky was on foot.

Looking for food. Where was the nearest convenience store or grocery store? Not far; but they'd been picked through pretty well, from what Hutch had seen trying to keep people from being trampled in the haste and terror.

Still, Hutch headed there at a run. The street lights hadn't come on yet, but it was getting too dark to see; he stumbled twice.

Then he was there, at the blazing lights of the supermarket. The doors had been broken, would stand permanently open, now. He ran inside, calling his partner's name. "Starsky! Starsk!" The words seemed to echo through the bleak and empty tundra of the supermarket. Shelves had been stripped bare. Displays had been knocked over. Across the floor, cereal boxes lay gutted, busted in the fray, their contents scattered across the floor. Cornflakes crunched like dry leaves under Hutch's boots.

"STARSKY!"

He walked all through the empty store, and found nothing but a couple of bottles of sports drink. He took these for the people in the shelter and headed back outside, his heart pounding in his throat as he thought of the bombs and Starsky so vulnerable and fearless, alone out here somewhere in the gathering darkness.

A flash of dark, curly hair: Starsky, exiting an apartment building across the street, his arms full of groceries. A relieved smile lit up Hutch's face as he ran over. "Looting, Starsk? I thought you thought the war wasn't real."

Starsky shrugged, a bit embarrassed. "Everything else is taken. I'll pay 'em back later. Right now we need this stuff down at the shelter."

"Well, let me carry some, and let's hurry back. It's getting—"

Overhead, a sound was approaching. The sound of an airplane.

In a city that had been tomb-silent for the last several hours, it sounded loud as a siren. They both stopped and stared up at it.

"…dark," said Hutch, the last word of his sentence falling from his mouth hushed and like a death-knell. He couldn't take his eyes off the plane. It flew high—military-looking. Couldn't tell for certain, but… what planes would be flying, now, but those which held bombs? And what planes would be heading for here, unless they meant to drop a bomb in the heart of Bay City? Someone wanted to destroy the coast, and he and Starsky were here to witness it. But not for much longer…

Groceries slipped from Starsky's hands. He turned an agonized expression on Hutch. "Hutch," he said, like it was the last and most important word in the world.

"Starsky," said Hutch, almost a sob. He dropped the bottles and moved for Starsky, stepping on the groceries. It was over; it was all over. Everything this city had worked for, all the friendships and families and criminals and businesses and people, and Hutch and Starsky.

"Starsk." He almost sobbed the name, wrapping his friend tight and close in his arms.

Starsky's grip was bruising. His hands clenched around the cloth of Hutch's shirt. His heart beat fast and frightened against Hutch's chest. His breathing sounded ragged and terrified. "Thought you were wrong. Sorry," he gasped.

"Wouldn't make any difference if we were in the shelter or not," Hutch promised, squeezing his partner tight.

The plane flew over, so loud, loud, loud, like a thousand crows…

Eyes squeezed shut, they waited together for the end.

But it tarried. "Shouldn't we be dead by now?" asked Starsky in a very small-sounding voice.

Hutch, who had been listening for the boom, waiting for whatever pain came before instant death—a white-hot glare of the Bomb, taking their lives—squeezed his eyes open, and saw only darkness.

"Well, we're not."

"Maybe—they're goin' further in."

"Yeah."

And just like that they had hope again, of a sort. "If we get to the shelter in time…"

"C'mon, grab that food!" They scrambled for it, and hurried at a run back towards the shelter, dropping a couple of things in their frantic and fearful haste, side by side and stumbling in the dark.

"Here—down here." Starsky shifted his groceries and reached a hand out to steady Hutch.

Hutch tripped over his own feet as he hurried down the stairs. The basement was dimly lit, but he could see—people's faces, looking different. Like it was New Years' and everyone had just had the countdown, a laugh, a kiss, a toast—

The radio was turned loud.

"Repeat, a cease-fire has been called while America and Russia sit down to talk through the situation. Diplomats are being flown…"

Hutch dropped his groceries, let out a shout, and turned to his partner, arms raised high. "Yahoo!"

Starsky dropped his goods as well and wrapped his arms around Hutch's middle, squeezing his eyes shut in joy, hugging Hutch far too tightly.

"Told you, told you, told you, told you!" he said against Hutch's chest.

"Starsky-I-gotta-breathe—!"

Laughter and crying. People beginning to talk, laugh, scold, shout, exclaim, embrace and slap each other on the back, close their eyes, weep—

They were alive.

The two nations would try once again to solve their differences in a civilized way.

Bay City would continue, with its families and businesses and criminals, and Starsky and Hutch.

Life held another chance for people to be their better selves, to work things out. Another chance.

They were alive.


End file.
